Deer Hunting: Glimpse Into a Wisconsin Family Tradition

Whitetail deer hunting season has long held significance in my mind. For many Wisconsin families, it’s a November tradition as momentous as Thanksgiving. The only thing that lured my dad away from deer camp one year in the late ‘80s was the looming birth of his daughter — me! 

Decades later, I find myself married to a fellow deer season baby. Whereas I never took to hunting beyond occasionally joining my dad with a sleeping bag and a book, my husband, Brett, has often spent his late November birthdays in a tree stand, rifle in hand, willing a buck to wander by. 

Every hunter’s experience is different and evolves over time. Today I’ll share a glimpse from my perspective — that of a non-hunting observer and the unofficial cabin cook and cleaner — during Wisconsin’s 2023 gun hunting season.

The anticipation

The anticipation begins well before opening morning. There are hunting clothes and supplies to pack. Meals to plan. New or tried-and-true locations to scout. 

In the weeks leading up to the gun season opener, Brett, his dad, and his brother typically make weekend trips to the northern Wisconsin cabin that they co-own and built from scratch. They attach game cameras to trees in possible hunting spots. They exclaim as pictures of wildlife are sent to their phones. (Oh, how the times have changed!) They bowhunt, which extends well before and after the nine-day gun season. 

Finally, it’s November 17, the evening before the gun season begins. The guys crack open some beers and finalize their game plans for the morning. We eat a hearty meal of Lake Michigan salmon. They deliberate about the weather and the timing of official shooting hours. Brett’s brother, Mike, preps the coffee maker and schedules it to turn on before daybreak. Early to bed, early to rise… 

The magic of opening morning

When my alarm goes off at 4:35 a.m. I can smell coffee brewing and see light shining in the door from the kitchen. Mike is already up, bright eyed and bushy tailed, saying he was too excited to sleep. This is the third morning in a row that Brett is hunting, but he’s also up and at ’em. There’s a special energy to the gun opener.

I sit down on the couch next to the fire as the guys take quick showers with “no scent” soap. They fill their thermoses, layer on camouflage and blaze orange clothing, and head out the door shortly after 5 a.m. Plenty of time to drive to their respective spots — Mike by four-wheeler and Brett via side-by-side — then walk through the woods and climb into their tree stands by first light.

Soon, one of Mike’s sons wakes up and joins me in the 77 degree Fahrenheit living room. Ah, the beauty of burning wood! The family patriarch, Dave, rises and makes his infamous pancakes for the grandkids. After breakfast, he heads to his own hunting blind, grandson in tow. 

As the morning marches on, I receive updates from family and friends near and far. Brett made it to his stand safely despite a “standoff with a doe.” A friend sends a picture of her husband’s buck, the first shot with their proud young son by his dad’s side. My own dad and brother check-in from our family deer camp, 200 miles east in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula. It’s amazing how technology can keep us connected, even in remote areas.

The mundane middle

There comes a point when the early excitement starts to wane. The adrenaline fades. The caffeine wares off. The battery dies in a heated vest.

I don’t blame them. How many times can you hear the sound of what must be a big buck — only to discover it’s a busy squirrel collecting acorns — before feeling a tinge of discouragement? Shots fired in the distance are a reminder that other hunters are having better luck. 

Despite this, Brett sits from sun up to sun down, sipping coffee and enjoying the unseasonably warm late November day. I like to imagine he’s using that time to contemplate the meaning of life — or maybe planning a special surprise for my upcoming birthday.

Back at the cabin, I make lunch for the rest of the crew. Mike returns and sets out again, this time with one of his sons. Dave takes his other grandson, with a promise of warmth and snacks in his heated hunting blind. I don my own blaze orange and go for a run in the afternoon sunshine before preparing dinner, enjoying the brief quiet of an empty cabin. 

Everyone returns shortly after dark and they swap stories from the day. Mike has a video of a small buck that waltzed right up to his tree multiple times. Brett has a picture of a curious squirrel. Our nephews proclaim they will become professional squirrel hunters when they grow up. A hunting show plays in the background on the T.V. As we eat dinner, the guys reminisce about old times and re-strategize for the following morning. 

And, of course, we sing happy birthday to Brett!

The triumph

Day two has a slower start. Brett sets out a little before 6 a.m. Just after 7, before Mike can even get his son ready and out the door, we get a text from Brett. He shot a buck!

The buzz returns in full force. We spring into action to gather the necessary supplies for cleaning and dragging out the deer. The five of us pile into Dave’s Ranger to meet Brett in the woods. Our nephews get a front row view of gutting a freshly harvested deer. 

The following days bring all the steps of processing the venison, including skinning, deboning, grinding, and vacuum sealing. It’s a lot of work, and adds some stress to cooking on Thanksgiving, but it’s a wonderful feeling to restock the freezer as our moose supply dwindles. Mission accomplished.

The tradition

It’s easy to call this year a success, but there are many deer seasons that end with no meat in the freezer, and that’s okay, too. 

Bowhunting legend Fred Bear said, “If you consider an unsuccessful hunt to be a waste of time, then the true meaning of the chase eludes you all together.”  

I didn’t always realize just how special deer hunting season is. The giddy anticipation. Crispy leaves and late fall sunrises and sunsets. The call of coyotes under a bright moon (unnerving from a tree stand, but mesmerizing from the cabin’s deck). Reflective conversations around the dinner table. The pursuit and respect for an animal that can feed a family through winter.

Hunting camps are often filled with mementos from deer seasons of the past: mounted antlers, photos, even signed beer cans from especially celebratory occasions.

Those items are more than decorations. Each has a memory, a story, a person behind it. They become more treasured as time passes and loved ones are lost. 

It’s sad to learn that Wisconsin deer hunting license sales were down this year, prompting news outlets to report that hunting is declining.

Hunting is a tradition that brings together multiple generations, teaches largely lost skills, and offers an appreciation for the changing seasons and simple pleasures of the great outdoors. The tools and techniques have evolved, but there is a sacredness to the experience that remains timeless. 

I’m thankful to be part of it in my own, non-hunting way.